Sparrowheart
by Jarky Thistlebrush
Summary: This tale follows the crew of the ship Sparrowheart. Starting off as outlaws and thieves, they reluctantly find themselves part of something much bigger than themselves. Something that, if not stopped, will change Mossflower forever, for good or for bad...
1. Prologue: Springtime and Memories

**A/N Update! Since I forgot to do an introductory Author's Note on Chapter 1, I'll do it here. This story, although it is a Redwall fanfiction, is inspired by the TV show Firefly. It has many surprises in store! I'm working on two stories at the moment, so I may not update as often as I would have liked. I am also terrible at chapter names, so suggestions are welcome!**

**And for replies to the reviews:**

**Grey: Characters ****_are_**** my specialty. All my characters have quite interesting pasts, though more on that later. Zerif the fox is specifically based on Jayne from Firefly, though the others are entirely original. I have to have a hare in my story (obviously), and I like writing poetry, so TA-DA! Kabi! There will be more main characters than just the crew of ****_Sparrowheart, _****though.**

**Waycaster: As I said, I love making characters. The vermin and the woodlnders ****_do _****fight a lot, but just verbally mainly. Because of Seon the Strict. I was going to make ****_Sparrowheart _****the prologue, but it really sound prologue-y as such.**

**Thanks to the both of you! Now, on with Chapter Two, in which there will be memories, a new character and trouble! (And other stuff that is either too tiny or too spoilery to reveal). Let the chapter begin!**

* * *

_**Springtime and Memories**_

The cool spring's night cast its warm blanket over a rugged landscape, soothing the rolling form of the hills into a gentle, peaceful sleep. A soft, whistling wind played through the treetops like an orchestra, bringing with it the scent and memory of warmer times, times when no folk bothered to lock their windows and bar their doors every night. The stars spoke of longing, of hope.

But not all that night was peaceful. The dormant form of Redwall Abbey lay sleeping by the road, a giant. Shadows were cast like cloaks over the faded red walls for which the place was named, and among these shadows, a small, dark one could be seen, clambering skillfully up the smooth, stony surface.

Locky pressed his furry cheek against the cold, hard stone, paws grappling with the bare rock. His paw pads were red and raw from the rough rock. The little stoat continued to clamber upwards. He had a job to do.

Locky was a spy. Since the Mossflower council had arisen, vermin were treated like dirt and spat upon where possible. Locky reasoned that some of his kind did deserve it, but all he had done in his life was try to be helpful! Even if it was helping the rebels. Even if it required thieving and stealing into Redwall in the dead of night. Like a little, rotting, evil vermin. But why? Locky forced down those memories, gritting his teeth. It would not do to bring them out into the open now.

One searching paw gripped the edge of the wall now. It was only a little effort to haul himself over the the walltop, and then he sprawled for a second on the path, panting. After a second's rest, he was off again, a dark shadow amongst the hundreds of other dark shadows.

Hearing a sound, Locky froze, back pressed against the wall. Was it just an owl? Or was it a twig breaking? A leaf crunching beneath a paw? Panting with fear, Locky took this time to reflect on his situation.

Around ten seasons ago, the Mossflower Council had arisen from the charred and smoking aftermath of a great war. Much of its history was too painful for Locky to recall. All that All he could bear to remember was that a rebellion had been started, quickly been quenched, a rebel association founded.

Then a blue-black furred stoat had walked into the picture. Short on work, food and anything required to live, the stoat had joined the Rebel Association in exchange for free beds and meals. Except there was more than that… No. He would not, _could _not, think about that now. Tonight, that stoat was spying. That stoat's name was Locky.

Locky breathed out slowly and carefully. His muscles relaxed, and he slipped smoothly into the silent and deserted orchard.

Resting in the dappled shadows beneath an old plum tree, the little stoat surveyed possible entries into the main Abbey building. He cursed under his breath as he spotted mouse guards posted around every exit. His paw tightened on the worn hilt of his dirk.

_Rats! _He though to himself, muttering it under his breath. _Rats, rats, rats! _Then Locky chuckled slightly to himself as he recalled an old, greying rat who used to work for the rebellion. Locky's chosen form of oath had not impressed him, and he had earned himself a beating for 'Disrespecting his Elders'.

Locky's brain worked quickly. His eyes darted between the upper story windows, the plum tree beneath which he was crouched, the mouse guards. Then he was off.

Scrambling through the lower branches of the plum tree, Locky's tattered brown tunic gained a few more tears, and his heart felt as if it might burst from his chest. Was he being too noisy?

Among the thinner, higher branches at the top of the tree, Locky carefully made his way to the side of the tree nearest to the building. He glowered at the formidable gap between the furthest branch and the nearest window ledge. A stoat would never make it. But he had to try.

With an inward yell, Locky hurled himself outwards, wind whistling in his ears as he practically flew towards the sandstone window ledge jutting out from the main building. Even as he began to plummet, the stoat realised he wasn't going to make it.

With a silent scream, Locky seemed to hang suspended in the air for a second before tumbling earthwards, wind tossing him about like a leaf caught in an autumn gale. His torn tunic fluttered out behind him like a billowing parachute.

Locky was scared. No, more than that. Locky was terrified. The most terrified he had ever been. His heart beat painfully hard in his chest. His mouth dry, his paws cold and clammy with sweat. He was going to die. Locky, stoat of the rebellion, was going to die. If not from the impact when he hit the ground, then from pure, plain fear.

There are different kinds of fear. There is the kind you feel when you are called on in Abbey School history class and don't know the answer. There is the kind that you experience at the beginning of a race. And then there is the worst kind. Fear in its purest form. The fear of death.

Time seemed to stretch out beyond eternity as Locky plummeted. The ground grew slowly closer, and in that moment, Locky knew. He was going to die.

Blackness engulfed Locky as his head struck the earth. His brain dully registered the pain, and then all was black.

* * *

_A young stoat sits at the edge of a huge cliff. His legs dangle out into the thin air, the only thing between him and the void a thin layer of velvet from his slippers. His fur is a dappled blue-grey, like stone. He is decked out in all kinds of finery, including a soft purple tunic with golden thread and a royal blue cloak. His wrists and hands are swamped in rings and bejewelled pawlets. Yet his green eyes show a hint of rebelliousness. This is one who will not be ordered about. This is one who thinks his own thoughts. This is one who is free, free as a bird._

_Another stoat approaches. Though with as much finery as the first stoat, she does not have the same freedom as the younger stoat. She is a slave to the Empire. "Locky!" she calls. "Swordplay time!"_

_Locky groans, twisting his head around to glare at his tutor. "But ye said I've go' another hour!" The other stoat grabs one of his paws and forcibly drags a protesting Locky away from the clifftop._

_Locky stands at the edge of a field of dirt and gravel, bordered on all sides by a ring of trees. He holds a sword loosely in one paw, without heart. Spectators watch on in mild interest. Locky's paws curl into fists as the crazed badger opposite him charges. But the stoat makes no move to fight back. Instead, he waits as his attacker roars and charges, bulling him to the ground as the crowd jeers._

_Locky's face registers pain as his left paw is twisted awkwardly underneath him. Then shock as his badger's eyes. Mad with rage. Blood seeping into them as its manacled paws smash onto Locky's head. One, twice! This beast is not attacking to harm. This beast is not attacking to win. This beast is attacking to kill!_

_A cry from the audience keeps Locky conscious as agony seers through his mind. A stoat, dressed in rags, runs forward with a sword. It's on fire. Or is that just Locky's imagination? He blearily attempts to sit up, and gapes at the sight before him. The young stoat blocks every blow from the badger she is fighting. Her flaming sword cuts deep gashes in the creature every time it touches its hide. She is not harmed at all._

_Then, with a lightning series of blows and parries, the stoat drives the creature back against a wall. With a neat smack to the head with the pommel of her sword, the badger falls, poleaxed, to the ground._

_A tall stoat is carried out into the arena by a patrol of servants. She glares at Locky, then turns to address the stoat with the flaming sword. She flicks a golden ring at the stoat's feet. "Thank you for saving my unworthy son. In future, do not meddle with the arena. We do not appreciate the use of magic here. Next time you interfere, you will be executed." That is it. Her thanks. _

_The stoat graciously accepts the coin, then runs. Locky glances glances at her retreating form and mutters an apology._

_Then this is no longer a memory. Locky travels through the mist of time, born upon the silver wings of dragons. He is wandering through darkened alleys, when a figure appears. A friendly-seeming brown mouse. He leans on a sword, plain but deadly. "Take care, my son. Soon all that once was will become again, and you must help one in need, for she is the only one who can save us." But before Locky can tell the mouse that he isn't his son, and his father was gone, the figure disappears, and Locky is alone once more._


	2. Sparrowheart

**_Sparrowheart_  
**

The _Sparrowheart _sped downriver, skimming over rapids and rocks on her flat bottom. She was a sleek, smooth ship, just barely wide enough to fit within the banks of the River Moss. Her three sky blue triangular sails fluttered slightly until the crew pulled them taut again. And what a crew it was!

Vermin and woodlander worked in harmony on _Sparrowheart'_s deck, not snapping at each other, not drawing weapons.

A little stoat conversed with a tall black otter, neither of them even acknowledging that the other was a vermin or woodlander.

"The _Sparrow's _running well!" the stoat commented, patting her varnished wooden hull affectionately. "This is the life! Skimming along on the stream without a worry in the world!" She spread her arms wide, closing her eyes and feeling the wind on her back.

The black otter chuckled, smiling happily at her enthusiasm. "Why don't w'go find Zerif, Kala? Ye know he doesn't like to be kept waiting."

The stoat, Kala, groaned softly. "But Captain, he's so..." she trailed off.

The black otter smiled grimly, patting his trusty greatsword. "He's sweet."

Kala groaned. Not this nonsense again… "Sweet, Seon? Really?"

Seon eyed Kala's scruffy, hooded, light brown tunic and kelp-woven belt. The tunic was lined with soft applegrass. Her soft, deep blue cloak trailed over her shoulders, flowing softly out behind her. But her most unusual feature was her reddish-ginger fur. Her ears were tall and tufted, like a squirrel's. "Ye're a mage, remember mate. Even if ye're not the greatest mage th' world's ever seen, at least yer a good fighter..."

Kala shuffled awkwardly on the deck, seemingly very interested in her own footpaws. "I've always been told hacking off limbs was my forte..."

Seon too eyed her footpaws for a second. Then his eyes snapped upwards. "You need to wash them."

Kala raised her eyebrows, smiling. Then she followed her captain below deck.

They entered a gloomy corridor. Everything about it screamed darkness and death, from the greenish tinged walls to the slippery floor.

Seon seemed to notice this. "ZERIF! GET YER TAIL OUT 'ERE AND EXPLAIN THIS MESS!"

A loud groan came from within a small cabin off to the left. "But Cap'n..."

Seon stomped down the corridor, closely followed by a grinning Kala. The captain barged through a half-rotted door and glared at the bulky brown fox within.

The fox wore a thin, short-sleeved tunic and a long greenish coat. A pink, bobbled beanie rested on his skull, flattening his ears. His tail was a lighter shade than the rest of his body, but the most astounding thing about him was the sheer amount of weaponry he seemed to possess.

In his belt was tucked two daggers, a dirk, six little knives, two battle axes and one long sword. Two straps crossed his bulky, muscled chest diagonally, both full of little knives and daggers. Both held swords, and he also carried a sling and pouch of stones in one paw. Small leathery dirk-holders were strapped to his legs and forearms. An assortment of small knives were tucked into his boots, and on the table in front of him lay another half-dozen weapons which he was methodically tucking into even more straps that criss-crossed his body.

Seon sighed in frustration. "Zerif..."

The fox looked up from his work and pricked his ears. "I'm ready to go, cap'n!"

Kala chortled, stepping out from behind Seon's tall figure. "Nice beanie you've got there, Zerif! I especially like the… You know, the bobbles..." She trailed off as a savage glare shot her way.

Seon had more important matters on his mind. "Zerif, surely ye don't expect me t' let ye bring that all?"

The short fox's ears drooped. His tail, once standing straight like a banner, drooped until it touched the wooden floor. "But Captain," he whined, "I'm all ready!"

The black otter placed his paws on his hips and glared at Zerif. Even the bobbles on the fox's beanie seemed to wilt with sadness. Finally, Seon could no longer withstand the soft sniffling sounds issuing from Zerif's snout. The captain threw his paws up into the air. "Fine! But drop the sling!"

Zerif sniffled again. "Pleeaase can I keep the sling?" He clasped his paws together and widened his eyes. Kala sniggered.

Seon turned, glaring reproachfully at the fox. "Drop the sling. You can keep everything else." Zerif reluctantly obeyed.

* * *

All semblance of cuteness disappeared from the fox's face in an instant. Instead, a wicked grin plastered itself across his features as he twirled a rapier skillfully in one paw. "Right. Now, let's go kill somebeast!"

Kabi the hare flounced his way onto _Sparrow's _deck, skipping merrily along as he strummed his lute.

"_A long time ago, and far far away,_

_A place where the fields and the lands are grey,_

_The bare sandy road positively glowed,_

_Compared to the toad,_

_Who claimed those who stray._

_A time came, then,_

_When young woodlanders,_

_Time and time again,_

_Strayed to this place._

_And what they met there,_

_They stared boldly in the face._

_Pie fights did ensue,_

_Believe it, do,_

_For next time it'll be yoooooouuuuuu!"_

The dreadful racket was silenced by a shout from the front of _Sparrowheart. _"Cap! Oi, Seon! The ocean's in view!" Kabi set down his precious lute and turned to the front of the ship to see if what Bailey said was true.

Bailey the vole clambered cheerfully down from the mast where she had perched and dropped lightly onto her toes next to Kabi. Together, they shielded their eyes against the blinding sunlight and stared at the horizon, the river and the beauty in between.

A stone's throw ahead of them, the wide river opened up and into the sea. Turquoise patterns rippled and chased each other across the playful white topped waves. Overhanging vegetation provided cover for a range of seaside ferns. Further out, the water was turned a deep, rich blue and larger waves danced with a wild beauty across the surface.

Almost stunned by this overwhelming wildness, Kabi bent to pick up his lute. Although he was not the best of singers, the lute was his life and he had mastered the art of playing.

Slowly, he sat back on a nearby barrel and began to strum. Softly at first, then gathering speed, and finally ending with a wild mix of notes that passed so fast that you could barely notice them running by.

As always, Bailey began to dance as Kabi repeated the song. She cartwheeled along the deck, grinning to herself as a cheeky glint began to creep into the corner of her eye. As Kabi neared the end of the song for the second time, Bailey flipped around next to Kabi and grabbed the lute by its neck. The hare stared, stunned, for barely more than a second, then grabbed his lute back.

At this point, Malay strode onto deck. The young sable was decked out in armour and a gleaming sword rested in his belt. His fur was coloured a deep blue-grey, like the midnight sky. Upon seeing the hare and vole frantically tugging on either end of a lute, he spoke.

"Dost thou, Kabi, wish to challenge thou, Bailey, to a duel?" he asked, completely misinterpreting the situation. Both Kabi and Bailey froze, confused. Kabi took this opportunity to pull his lute back and tuck it safely under his arm.

Zerif cleared his throat loudly as he walked up behind them. "Cap say's there's a mission we 'ave to do. Come on." With that, all four of them turned and walked slowly away.


	3. A Dead End Indeed

**A/N So the next chapter's here already!**

**Waycaster: I thought it fit better if I made Locky's chapter a prologue. Thanks for suggesting that, by the way! It does mess with the reviews, but that's fine. As is shown here.**

**Thank you! I was kind of improvising with Locky the whole chapter. And is Locky ****_really _****being enslaved? All will be revealed...**

**As an annoying, evil author, I will not answer any questions. As I said, all will be revealed...**

**Grey: *Nods.* I did like the idea of woodlanders enslaving vermin, but is that _really _what's going on? The badger scene/flashback was quite fun to write as I like writing flashbacks in present tense. I like present tense writing.**

**Who is the female stoat? It will remain a mystery...**

_**A Dead End Indeed**_

Sparrowheart skipped across the tiny waves that flitted across the ocean's surface, whipped up by a slight breeze. Shore was far from sight now. Lost to the clouds of the beach and the slavery of land. The open ocean was where freedom could be found, where Sparrowheart and her crew belonged.

Bailey pored over a series of maps in the foremost cabin, a comically small pair of reading glasses perched precariously on her snout. Seon and Kabi leaned over the poor vole's shoulder, trying and drastically failing to read the map for themselves.

"Found where we are yet?" Seon queried, gazing intently at the millions of tiny markings that covered the creamy paper Bailey was studying.

Paper was precious to the folks of the Sparrowheart. It was exceptionally difficult to acquire for smugglers and outlaws like themselves, and so Bailey's maps were about the most precious thing the crew owned. Sure, they had many stolen goods which were a good deal more expensive than the maps, but none of those did they really own. Bailey had found these maps at an old trinket store one day, for just one bag of sea-salt. Very cheap, considering the times.

Bailey shook her bespectacled head distractedly. "No. Now stop reading over my shoulder! I can't concentrate!" She waved a paw frantically above her head. All this succeeded in was whacking Kabi hard in the nose. The hare left in a huff, leaving just Bailey and Seon to study the maps.

Bailey wiped mist and condensation off the window with one paw, then gazed out. Her sharp eyes spotted a dark shape on the horizon. Without turning around, she spoke. "Seon, cap, I think I've found our ship!"

The tall, normally solemn otter broke into a wide grin at this news. "Steer right for it. I'll tell th' crew." He turned with a little skip and exited the cabin.

* * *

"BRING 'ER ROUND!" A shout came from the bow of Sparrowheart. Kala and Bailey hauled at the tiller while Zerif and Kabi, still glaring daggers at each other, hauled the sails in tight. Malay chuckled as he watched from his position by the grappling hooks on the port side of the ship.

"Methinks that, perchance, Zerif and Kabi shall push each other off the mast."

Seon, hearing this comment, grinned his usual roguish grin. "TELL 'EM THAT IF THEY DO, THERE'LL BE CONSEQUENCES!" But Malay couldn't reply as the humongous side of a merchant's galley loomed above them, so stunned with awe was he. A healthy wind whipped the waves into a thick white spray as the Sparrowheart crashed into the side of the larger ship. With a jarring shudder, the smaller ship rebounded. Seon gave the order as .

"Grapplin' 'ooks away!" Malay nodded, and Kabi clambered gratefully down from the mast to stand behind Malay, along with a sweating Bailey. Seon too joined them, grasping a rope in his soaking paws. Four grappling hooks shot outwards and hooked onto the hull of the other ship, followed by four more. Panicked cries could be heard, growing increasingly louder as the captain and crew of the merchant ship realised what was unfolding far below.

Seon smiled grimly at Zerif as he dropped lightly onto the deck. "Now, remember: No killing unless it is absolutely necessary." The brown fox's face fell at this, but he did not argue.  
Kala fought silently to lash the tiller in place before joining the rest of the crew by the port side. The faces of bedraggled woodlanders could now be seen far above, panicking as they watched helplessly. The crew of Sparrowheart began to clamber upwards, grasping the ropes like their lives depended on it. They did. The rocks below were jagged and sharp, and any creature who fell into the thin stretch of water between ships would be crushed between the wooden sides of the two ships.

This was when the crew of the merchant ship began to take up defensive positions. Their captain, a fat, jolly sea otter, had just been sitting down to enjoy a well-earned mug of October Ale when the trouble had began. Now he was waddling about on the main deck, handing his crew weapons and shouting out orders, as well as waving his paws about like a maniac. The latter was mainly due to the fact that he was mildly drunk.

Bailey noticed this, and began to climb faster. Her sodden paws grasped the damp, bristly rope tightly, and she pulled herself upwards with a practised ease. A sharp pressure against the vole's leg was a welcome, if unpleasant, reminder that she was armed and a free beast. Nothing could take that from her. Reaching the railing of the ship, she leapt gracefully over it and landed, cat-like, upon her footpaws. The other crew were doing much the same, though with far less dignity.

Kala strode on board, pulling her sword out deftly and parrying a quick blow from an overconfident squirrel. With a grin, she neatly brought the pommel down on the unfortunate creature's head. He dropped like a rock, and Kala dragged him behind a stack of barrels before continuing to cut her path through the crowds of seabeasts.

Seon fought like a madman. They were outnumbered, and he knew it. He fought for his crew. He fought for his life. The otter captain, however, had been in trickier situations than this.  
"ZERIF!" he called, "BRING ON THE BLACK-OUT POWDER!"

The fox, hearing his name, nodded grudgingly. He pulled a small cloth pouch from under his belt, ducking a wild swing from the mouse he had been fighting in the process. Tugging the little drawstrings, he coughed as a small bit of powder drifted outwards on the sea wind. The crew of the Sparrowheart covered their noses and mouths. They knew what was coming.  
A large cloud of dust billowed upwards. The mouse Zerif had been fighting paused for a second, bemused, then laughed mockingly. He raised his sword to finish Zerif off. He began began to bring it down. Then-

The mouse froze. Only his whiskers were left twitching slightly, and an expression of profound shock plastered itself all over his face. Then he fell backwards, stiff as a board. The remainder of the crew laughed at the fallen mouse. "Must've had too much ale last night, eh?" One voice could be heard to shout mockingly. Then he too froze, and like a contagious disease, the rest of the crew began to feel the effects of Zerif's Black-Out powder. It spread like a wild ocean wave, knocking each of them under in a brief second.

Bailey wandered over to where the first mouse had collapsed. She shook her head pityingly. "That 'un'll have a hell of a headache when 'e wakes up!"

Seon ordered the crew to get to work. They tied the crew of the merchant ship to the mast, still unconscious and now deprived of their weapons. Then the Sparrow's crew really started to clear the ship.

Kala wandered around below deck, admiring the polished hazelnut wood walls that stretched outwards on either side of her. Doorways branched off from the main corridor which was lit by little oil lamps, the warm, flickering light casting shadows all over the walls. Kala felt strange, numb. As if frozen. Maybe she had breathed in some of the Black-Out dust?

As the little stoat rounded a corner in the seemingly endless maze of tunnels, she caught sight of Malay standing over a little otter, arguing hotly with the fallen beast.

"Thou hast given up! Methinks thou hast cheated!"

The otter propped himself up on his elbows. "I ain't cheated! Yer th' vermin 'ere! All I did was fall over. Now, quite speakin' Snakesear!"

Malay recoiled as if he had been struck. "Thou hast got it all wrong! It is Lakespear!"

Kala grinned, crossing her arms over her chest, before wandering off down another branching corridor. But there it was again, that numbness. Now she realised that it was not a numbness. It was a sort of gentle tugging at her very heart.

Mystified, Kala walked forwards as if in a trance. The tugging led her down the corridor. She heard rather than felt the impact as her outstretched paw struck the wooden wall at the end of the corridor, and only then did she realise that her eyes had been closed the whole time. Opening them, she sighed in frustration and ran a paw down the wall. That was where she was meant to go. She was certain of it.

But this was a dead end. It lead… Nowhere.

With a start, Kala knew. Jumping a foot into the air, she turned. Turned and ran as fast as she could.

It was, truly, a dead end. A simple trap. With one final leap, Kala fell onto all fours, panting as the corridor collapsed behind her. All was silent once again.

Slowly, sluggishly, Kala began to think. If that was just a trap, then what was the tugging she had felt? What had guided her there?

Kala relaxed slightly, cheek pressing against the smooth, oily wood of the corridor. That was something to think about later.


End file.
